To Feel In The Night The Nearness Of You
by OzQueene
Summary: Wheeler and Linka are left alone to watch a movie.


**Notes:** Just a silly little one shot, very fluffy. Unbeta'd. The title is taken from the Norah Jones song _The Nearness of You._

* * *

"How does that feel?" Kwame asked, placing Linka's bandaged ankle gently on the pillow that was balanced on the coffee table.

"Much better, thank you," she sighed, leaning back against the couch cushions. She looked up as Wheeler strode in.

The Fire Planeteer hesitated briefly, an irrational flare of jealousy shooting through his body as he saw Kwame handling Linka's bruised ankle. He quashed it quickly, feeling guilty for the ridiculous emotion.

"How's the ankle, babe?" he asked.

"A little swollen, but it will get better," Linka answered. "And how is your shoulder?"

"Oh, that was nothin'," he said candidly, shrugging out of his jacket. His shoulder protested only slightly. Argos Bleak had been a little rough in his handling earlier – wrenching Wheeler's arm up behind his back and causing more pain than had been necessary. But it was no longer bothering him.

He flopped down onto the couch beside Linka. "Want to watch a movie?"

"I do not have much choice," she said teasingly, waving to her ankle. "You have me stranded, Yankee."

He grinned. "Feel like anything in particular? Action? Horror? _Romance_?"

"_Bozhe moy_," she sighed.

Kwame rolled his eyes with a smile, leaving them to it. This game of theirs could last a few hours. He slipped away unnoticed, looking forward to stretching out on his bed with a book.

Wheeler settled in next to Linka, draping his arm across the back of the couch. Sooner or later he'd let it drop down to rest around her shoulders, and depending on her mood she'd let him get away with it, or smack him and complain about his manners.

The movie started, but neither seemed to be in the mood to watch anything. Linka tilted her head back, looking up at him.

"Your shoulder really does not bother you?"

He stretched his arm around her and hugged her tightly. "Feels pretty good to me," he replied.

She muttered something under her breath, but did not pull away, and he grinned. It was going to be a good night.

"Just how did you sprain your ankle anyway, babe?" he asked, his eyes travelling the long, tanned line of her leg to rest on the clean bandages around her ankle.

"I fell through one of Plunder's trap doors," Linka said, sounding frustrated with herself. "I was so surprised I did not have time to land properly."

Wheeler let his fingers slide gently up and down her upper arm. "Does it hurt?" he asked.

She seemed to be fighting some sort of inner battle, and he knew there was a danger that he could receive a punch any moment for daring to caress her skin. He wondered if he should stop – but he figured it would be worth it to keep going even if she did jam her elbow into his ribs. He curled and uncurled his fingers against her arm, letting his thumb slide up and down her skin just under the sleeve of her t-shirt. Her skin was warm and smooth under his fingertips, and he could feel her muscles move when she clenched her hand.

_Here it comes, brace yourself..._

She settled against him, fixing her eyes on the screen determinedly. "_Nyet,_ it does not hurt now that I am resting it," she said.

He let a sigh of relief pass slowly through his lips. He fixed his eyes on the television as well, and they both pretended to watch the movie for another ten minutes, deciding to ignore the fact that Wheeler was tracing simple patterns on her arm and both of them liked it.

After a while, he explored further, tracing the sensitive skin near her elbow, tracking the veins he knew to be just under the surface. She shifted slightly, angling herself so he could reach further, his index finger tracing the pale skin on the exposed underside of her arm to her wrist.

He glanced down at her. Her eyes were fixed on the screen but not taking anything in – they were bright and largely unfocused. She was biting her lip gently, and there was a delicate flush of pink in each cheek.

He gave up pretending to watch the movie. He turned her hand gently, tracing the lines of her palm and her long, slender fingers.

"You are tickling me," she whispered, her eyes still fixed upon the television.

"Want me to stop?" he asked. He let his little finger brush the inside line of her wedding finger, and she shook her head slightly.

Feeling a little braver now, he shifted his head so his mouth rested gently against her temple, the intoxicating scent of her hair almost overwhelming him. She smelled like peaches and the sea – clean and sweet. He desperately wanted to kiss her – but past experience told him going too fast would result in him being left alone with a new bruise emerging somewhere on his body.

He traced her palm again, running his index finger over her lifeline. "You have a long lifeline," he murmured. "Those cheesy fortune tellers at the carnival would love you."

"Why so?" she asked, looking down at her hand in confusion.

He traced the line again. "You'll have a long life – lots of things to predict," he said mysteriously. "They can spend a good twenty minutes telling you your future, and by the time they reach your seventies, your pocket's empty."

"Well let us see yours, Mr. Fortune," she said, taking his hand in both her own and turning it palm up.

His palm was wider than hers – slightly calloused and rough, a scar close to the centre from the first day on Hope Island. He'd slammed his fist into his palm and caused a burn that looked like he'd stabbed himself with a cigarette.

She ran her thumb over the scar gently. "A sign of impetuousness," she said.

He chuckled. "You're kinda accurate so far, I'll give you that," he said, his mouth still pressed to her temple.

She seemed to relax against him, the humour allowing her to loosen up a little and think that maybe it was okay to enjoy such close physical contact with him.

"And here," she said, tracing a callous on the pad of his hand below his index finger. "You work hard. Outside, I am thinking?"

"You're amazing," he murmured, letting his other hand move to her wrist. They sat on the couch, cradled together, their hands resting quietly in Linka's lap.

"I can tell more about you than you can about me," she said smugly.

"Challenge accepted, babe," he said, his breath in her ear. He felt her shiver and he smiled.

"You bite your nails when you're nervous," he said, turning her hands in his own. "And when you're thinking – when you're doing a crossword or playing chess or reading a text book – you bite the end of your right thumb. You never wear nail polish and even when you work outside in all sorts of filth, you make sure your nails are clean again at the end of the day. You put hand cream on when you get into bed and it smells like tropical flowers."

"You take a little too much notice of me," she said. Her cheeks were flushed, but she didn't pull away from him. She looked a little touched that he'd noticed such things about her.

"You like bird watching," he reasoned. "So do I."

"_Bozhe moy_," she muttered.

He chuckled and nestled closer to her, comfortable enough now that she hadn't pulled away from him – even after holding her hands and making stupid jokes.

She gave up, too. Any pretence of not liking his attention was left by the wayside as she curled up and burrowed into him, resting her sore ankle across his legs.

Whenever she was alone with him her emotions seemed to take over – swamping her more rational, logical side. Her worries about getting too close to him never seemed to find a voice when the other Planeteers weren't around. Instead of worrying about complicating their relationship or causing a possible rift within the team, when she was with Wheeler all Linka could worry about was the state of her hair, or what he was thinking when he looked at her. It annoyed her – emotions were something she was unable to explain. All she knew was she was getting less and less capable of hiding her true feelings from him – and when she did manage to get a scathing remark into the conversation, he withdrew as though he was hurt, instead of trying to start an argument with her.

Wheeler hoped she couldn't hear his heart beating. His pulse was positively humming under his skin, and he had to fight to keep his breathing even. Displays of affection from Linka usually only came at the worst moments – like seconds before they were going to drown, or as they were suffocating on toxic fumes. The moment the danger passed, her guard went up again and she resisted him with all her might.

But now they were comfortable, on the couch in the common room with the television flickering quietly. The other Planeteers had retired to bed, and after such a long day chasing Plunder and Bleak around a toxic dumping ground, Wheeler didn't expect Gaia to call them into The Crystal Chamber any time soon.

They both fixed their attention on the television again, Linka's legs draped over his lap and his arm wrapped tightly around her, holding her against his body and encouraging her to pillow her cheek on his shoulder.

"You have a scar just here," Linka murmured after a moment, her fingertips grazing lightly across the stubble on his jaw. "What happened?"

He thought his heart was going to burst out of his chest. He was sure she could hear it now – her touch had caused it to go into a frenzy.

"Not sure," he answered, relieved to hear there was no quiver in his voice. "Might have been the time Plunder hit me with the end of his stupid pimp cane."

"Pimp cane?" she asked, and she laughed. "_Nyet_, it is only small." She stroked his skin again, tracing the slightly-raised outline of the scar she was examining. "You did it shaving, perhaps?"

"That's a high possibility," he answered. His voice was husky and he had unconsciously tilted his head against her touch, his breath deep and slightly ragged.

"There is another one here," she said, tracing her finger down the line of his jaw to the point where his pulse throbbed under his skin.

"Blight gave me that one," he murmured, tilting his head again and exposing his throat to her. "Remember?"

"_Nyet,_" she whispered. "Remind me."

He could feel her breath on his skin. "She decided she wanted to use me as a guinea pig in one of her experiments," he said. "When Kwame and Gi burst in she tried to cut me open with a scalpel."

She nodded, remembering suddenly. Remembered his t-shirt stained with scarlet blood all the way home, and she had fretted and wept all night at the thought of him coming within an inch of death.

She leaned in, her body trembling with nerves and adrenaline, and kissed his skin softly, her lips pressing gently against the faded scar on his throat.

All Wheeler was aware of after that was the roar of blood in his ears, the sound of his heart jumping and dancing crazily in his chest, and the way his nerves all turned to jelly, rendering him useless. Had the world started to end at that moment he'd have been able to offer nothing except a happy sigh.

He moved without thinking – but rather than the usual hasty, often-regretted movements he typically made, this was slow and smooth and soft. His hands cupped Linka's face gently. They sank into the sofa cushions as one, meeting in a gentle kiss once her head rested comfortably on the seat.

Linka sighed, one arm folding against his chest with her hand resting lightly along his jaw, the other arm winding its way around his shoulders, encouraging him to stretch the length of his body against hers.

He pulled back slightly, his lips just brushing hers, until she arched and met him again. Encouraged, he teased her mouth open with his tongue, his thumb stroking her cheek gently. He wound his other hand into her hair and the scent of peaches wafted up to him again, sinking into his lungs and making him dizzy with delight.

He moved his palm down the side of her body and up under her t-shirt to rest against the warm curve of her waist. She gasped softly, but didn't discourage him. Instead she pushed her fingers into his hair and pressed up against him, willing him to kiss her with more force. He complied readily, shifting his hips so he lay nestled between her thighs, her body winding its way around him like a vine. He moved his palm higher to rest along her ribs, breaking their kiss and nuzzling his way down her neck.

Linka tilted her head to the side and closed her eyes, panting softly.

Wheeler felt her jolt under him as he grazed his teeth over the curve between her neck and her shoulder. He chuckled.

"Good?" he whispered.

She nodded nervously. "_Da._ Good." She smiled up at him and he grinned and kissed the end of her nose.

"Yeah, good," he sighed, nuzzling her again.

"Are you sure the others are asleep?" she asked anxiously.

"No." He grinned and kissed the sensitive spot on her shoulder again. She sighed and squeezed his waist with her thighs.

"If you're really concerned, we can move," he proposed, moving his palm higher. He could feel the thin, silky material of her bra and the soft curve of her breast.

She bit her lip. She was torn between protesting in order to keep up the charade that had existed between them for so long, and giving in to the pulses he was causing to throb through her body. It was safe, playing the game and keeping him at arm's length. It was much easier to get hurt when she let him in and revealed any sort of vulnerability.

"Perhaps we should stop," she suggested weakly. "It is not a good idea..."

He took advantage of the reluctance he heard and kissed her again, his mouth silencing her gently.

She gave up. Thought seemed unable to exist in the new environment of her mind, and her protests were half-hearted.

There had been no particular moment to change her mind. Just that everyone else had left, and he had stayed and she had breathed in that smell of ocean and heat and smoke that seemed to constantly permeate the air around him. It was warm and soothing and she had breathed deeply and realised it was the smell of comfort and strength, and something she wanted. And he had been tracing her arm so gently with his fingers, his touch unhurriedly and careless, as though he had barely been thinking about it.

She knew he cared for her, and she suspected he knew she cared for him. She knew he certainly _hoped_ that she cared for him – and she often felt guilty for playing a game that involved two steps forward and one back. He had never given up – dancing around her and only blundering occasionally when she forced his patience too far.

And speaking of going too far, she was falling too deep into his touch and his kisses. His hand had moved to cup her breast and she was enjoying it all far too much, writhing and panting beneath him and reaching frantically for him whenever he stopped to gain a breath.

"_Nyet,_ wait," she gasped, turning her head to the side.

His hand moved from her breast to her waist and he steadied himself, breathing heavily. "You want to stop?" he asked. He didn't sound disappointed or angry or disbelieving, as she thought he might. She was relieved.

"_Nyet_, not really," she admitted quietly. "I am just... It is too fast," she whispered, looking up into his eyes.

"Okay," he answered, dipping his forehead against hers. "We can slow down, it's okay."

"I do not want you to stop," she said, her mouth dry as she nervously uttered this new admission to him.

He chuckled. "Thank God for that."

She smiled shyly up at him, toying with the hair at the back of his neck. "If I asked you to stop, you would?"

"Of course I would."

That was all she wanted to know. She leaned up and kissed him slowly, relief spreading slowly and mixing with the dizzying effects he had sent through her with his touch.

He tilted his head to the side slowly, a grin on his face. "You scared of me, Linka?"

"_Nyet_," she denied. "Not of you. Myself, on the other hand..."

"Yeah, you can be pretty scary," he agreed, winding her hair around his index finger.

She rolled her eyes and smiled. "That is not what I meant. I am afraid to let my guard down..."

"Why?" he asked gently.

"I do not want to get hurt." She shifted her eyes away from his, unable to handle the level of intimacy a direct gaze offered. She focused on the scar on his jaw – the one she had traced with her fingers earlier.

"Babe, you think I'm gonna hurt you?" he asked, his palm shifting over the warm skin of her waist again.

"Maybe," she admitted. "You have never stuck with one girl for very long."

"Well that's because none of them have been you." He kissed her and sat up, dragging her with him. "I can stick with girls. I had a girlfriend before I came to the Planeteers."

She felt a deep jolt of jealousy, and hated herself for it.

"You never had a boyfriend?" he asked. He slipped a finger gently down the side of her throat, tracing the beat of her heart until the collar of her t-shirt stopped him.

"I resisted," she said, trying to choose her words carefully. "I had too many things to do, taking care of my grandmother. And the boys in my village, they did not interest me. They did not really know me, anyway. They only looked..."

"Bird watchers," he said, nuzzling her neck.

She sighed. "_Bozhe moy._ If that helps you picture them, _da_."

He chuckled and moved his hands up under the warmth of her shirt again, his palms sliding firmly over her skin. "So what did I do differently today?" he asked quietly. "Or was it just my animal musk finally wearing you down?"

She tried to find a biting retort, but started laughing instead. He grinned and rolled her back into the cushions, pressing her there gently with his weight.

"You did nothing different, Yankee," she said affectionately, stroking his hair with one hand. "You make your feelings known daily. I cannot do the same, once in a while?"

"Hey, I'm not complaining," he clarified quickly. "I just wanted to know what it was so I could do it again tomorrow."

She shook her head to silence him, kissing him gently and tugging him back against her, settling her body comfortably beneath him. They took their time, tracking their fingers along one another's body, breathing in the scent of the other's hair or skin, nestling into the curves and angles of one another.

He moved his hand back under her shirt and cupped her breast again, and she settled against his touch, leaning into him. He kissed her neck again and she whispered something in Russian – something dazed and soft, and her hands moved under his shirt to rest against the bare skin of his back, her touch sending a jolt of electricity up his spine.

"Wait a minute," he breathed, nuzzling her and pulling away slightly.

"Is something wrong?" she asked worriedly, her hands sliding over him.

"No, it's very, very good. We just have to slow down." He quirked his eyebrow and moved his hips against her slowly, and she suddenly understood. She blushed and buried her face in his neck, giggling softly.

He looked down at her and coiled her hair around one of his fingers again.

"You're pretty sexy, you know that?" he asked.

She reddened even further, and seemed ready to protest, but he kissed her again, moving his body smoothly over hers and deepening his contact with her as much as possible.

They didn't part until the movie credits started to roll and the DVD menu started to loop.

Linka fumbled for the remote and stopped it, and Wheeler stretched across the coffee table and flicked the television off.

"Great, great movie," he sighed, sitting back and running a hand through his hair.

She giggled and sat up next to him, straightening her shirt, which was heavily rumpled and had been pushed up due to Wheeler's dedicated pursuit of her soft skin.

She couldn't help a yawn, and he noticed.

"Time for bed," he murmured, his thumb stroking gently across her eyebrow. She closed her eyes at the gentle, intimate gesture, and leaned against his arm.

"I suppose so," she whispered.

He carried her to her hut – insisting that she stay off her sore ankle. He set her down just outside her door and kissed her gently.

"Night then," he murmured.

She nodded, but didn't let go of him. "Goodnight."

They kissed again, slowly, lingering together despite the late hour. Neither seemed in any hurry to leave.

It was Wheeler who finally broke the kiss – though it was a reluctant move.

"It's late," he whispered.

She nodded. "_Da._ It has been a long day."

"Yeah. Your ankle okay now?"

"_Da,_ thank you." She smiled up at him and he kissed her again.

"Sweet dreams, babe."

"You too, Yankee."

He nodded and kissed her once more. "They'll be sweet, don't worry."

"Is your definition of sweet the same as mine?" she asked, raising her eyebrow.

He chuckled quietly. "Probably not."

They kissed again, and finally parted. She smiled at him and closed her door gently. He stood there for a moment, still feeling as though his limbs were jelly, before he moved away and headed for his own bed.

* * *

Wheeler stared up at the ceiling of his hut. He could hear the waves washing against the shore, but nothing could soothe him tonight.

He was beginning to worry. The quiet, calm night allowed his mind to run into overdrive. He began to wonder if it had all been some sort of weird, wonderful dream. Maybe he had concussion or something. It had _felt_ real though. He could remember the silky warmth of her skin, and that heady scent of peaches trapped in the curls of her hair.

He swallowed and ran his hand through his hair, kicking the blankets down. He began to wonder what things would be like in the morning. Would she insist that they go back to normal? What _was_ normal with Linka, anyway?

He had images of her giving him the cold shoulder at breakfast the next morning. He imagined her delivering some scathing remark when he greeted her, and then not speaking to him for days. Maybe he had pushed her too far. Maybe she hadn't really liked it.

He threw himself out of bed suddenly, not sure about where he was going. He needed to talk to her – and if she was asleep, well... He'd just sit on the beach for a while until he was tired enough to go back to bed.

He wrenched his door open and she stood there, looking timid and ghostly in the moonlight.

She smiled at him nervously, and took his hand, and all the anxiety he'd been feeling immediately left him.

He didn't think he had anything to worry about, any more.


End file.
